


the action in the streets is exciting

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [41]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, BAMF John Laurens, Fed-up civilian John Laurens, Friendship, Gen, Hero Hercules Mulligan, Hero Peggy Schuyler, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Relationship Problems, Rivalry, Villain Alexander Hamilton, Villain Lafayette, Villain Thomas Jefferson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9878495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: James stared at the object in his hands. He looked up to meet Thomas' hopeful gaze. He looked down again. “You’re a young, good-looking, suave billionaire,” he began slowly, as though trying to make heads or tails of this entire situation. “which I know for a fact because I'm stuck doing your tax payments, so please explain to me why you would steal this necklace for me when you could easily buy a hundred of them.”Thomas shrugged. “For the aesthetic,” he said simply.“You have a creepy approach to Valentine's day,” James informed him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, George Washington! You don't look a day over 285.

“Stop saving me!” Peggy hissed as Alexander – or maybe one of his illusions, she had never quite learned how to tell the difference, not quite believing Angelica when she swore up and down that _she_ could tell them apart – while trying to get Alexander to let go of her hand because _dammit_ , she was capable of running on her own. If anything, the body contact hindered her movements.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Stop _needing_ to be saved, then,” he replied in a tone that went a long way to show what he thought of Peggy's intelligence.

“It was a calculated risk,” the Duchess defended herself.

Alexander scoffed. “Peggy, I hate to break it to you, but you're the single worst person at math I've ever laid eyes on – and I regularly socialize with Mr Didn't Pass Basic Calculus Yet Feel Qualified To Comment On National Economy.”

“Speaking of that asshole,” Peggy chanced a look behind them, where maybe a dozen of Mr Magenta's henchmen were gaining on them, “they're catching up on us.”

Alexander flashed her a savage smile. A moment later, he spoke, “No, they're not.”

“Great,” Peggy retorted, “now _let go_ of my hand.”

“Or what?” Alexander's smile widened. “You'll punch me? You and what hand?”

A second later, a cracking sound echoed around the anticlimactically well-lit corridor. Peggy rolled her eyes. “I've got _two_ hands, idiot. Also, we need to move – Mr Magenta's fond of bombs, and unlike your neat illusion here, I'm still flesh and blood.”

“So am I,” Alexander said, but it was the somber note in his voice that gave Peggy pause.

With a sudden clarity, she realized what a risk Alexander was taking – he was risking alienating one of the very few allies he had left, possibly all of them, not to mention quite literally risking his life – all for the sake of rescuing a former ally from an all-to-lethal trap. It was moments like these that made her realize that, while Alexander had never been the most stellar of heroes, he wasn't a model villain either.

She grasped for words to express her gratitude, to say all that she needed to say, but she had never been as loquacious as Alexander. In the end, she settled for a simple “Thank you”.

Alexander nodded, somehow seeming to understand everything Peggy didn't – couldn't – say.

* * *

In retaliation for Hamilton interfering with Mr Magenta's fight with the Duchess, the aforementioned villain decided to kidnap Hamilton's new boy toy, John Laurens.

In retrospect, it hadn't been one of Thomas' more well-thought-out decisions. Mind, it was not as much a question of a reluctant hostage – John did not resist, per se – as that of said hostage being a _reckless dickwad_ , unafraid of speaking his mind even when any sane human being would have shut up ages ago (or at least around the time Thomas brought out the lions).

“I'll be honest here,” Laurens was speaking, “I was expecting something with a bit more… _flare_. I'm afraid that I’m going to have to rate this kidnapping a poor 3 out of 10 – at least the Marquis gave me popcorn. You're just an overgrown French fuck, and a fake one at that,” he grinned at the alliteration.

“You're a _perfect_ fit for Hamilton,” Thomas groaned, rolling his eyes behind his mask. He wasn't in the least surprised that Lafayette had beat Thomas to kidnapping Laurens, although he _was_ impressed that neither he nor Hamilton let anything slip about it, especially considering how very _lousy_ Hamilton was with secrets of any kind. The guy had exactly zero self-control, as evidenced once when he had once punched Thomas in order to “get home sooner because nothing that came out of Thomas' mouth was anything but shit anyway so why bother listening”.

“No, but seriously, this is just bad manners. By your lack of preparation, you're essentially showing me that you don't care what the outcome of this operation is, and, therefore, that you don't care about it,” John reasoned. “So really, by that logic, you could let me go, and we'll both get on with our day.”

Mr Magenta snorted. “Good try, Laurens. But no, while I don't particularly care about you, I care about getting some revenge for your boyfriend poking his nose where it doesn't belong.”

“If you gave him a shot, I'm sure you'd find his nosy behaviour quite pleasurable,” John grinned shamelessly.

Thomas groaned. Are you always this crude?” he asked rhetorically.

Laurens shrugged. “Nah, I'm usually actually super shy. Sass is just my typical reaction to rude supervillains. I blame Alexander for that, actually–”

Thomas agreed wholeheartedly.

“He walked into my café once, right after a battle with Athena,” Laurens went on, oblivious to Thomas' inner irritation – or maybe he wasn't oblivious at all, but rather was deliberately trying to annoy Thomas into letting him go. Actually, that second one seemed more probable by the second. “And then he ordered – _demanded_ , really, but that's neither here nor there – two espressos, which, fine, but then he refused to pay for them. It's kind of rude to just randomly _steal_ from people, not taking into account the time and effort they put into actually making the coffee, so I blackmailed him into paying.”

Thomas blinked. “You _blackmailed_ your boyfriend, who also happened to be a supervillain–“

“In the name of accuracy, I didn't know that my boyfriend was a supervillain until later,” his hostage defended himself.

“–who also happened to be a supervillain,” Thomas reiterated with a glower, “into paying for your coffee.”

“Yeah,” Laurens shrugged – or as much as he could, considering that he was tightly bound to a chair – casually, “that about sums it up.”

Thomas stared at Laurens incredulously. “ _How?_ ” his tone sounded borderline like pleading.

Laurens smiled. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Trade secret,” he stage-whispered, for the audience of one.

Thomas bit his lip. “You know,” he said slowly in a tone that he hoped sounded confident, “I'm afraid that we're going to have to reschedule our meeting, lovely as it is. I just remembered that I have a date planned, and that I simply cannot wait for Hamilton rescue you,” with a thought, one of his mindless minions – an otherwise uninteresting cashier at the Walmart nearest to Thomas' place – stepped forward to unbind Laurens.

“Knew you were a smart guy,” Laurens nodded, somehow hearing what Thomas refused to say out loud. “Well,” he stood up, shaking off his limbs, which had gone numb, “see you around, Thomas Jefferson.”

“Preferably not,” Thomas muttered.

_Yeah, like that was going to happen._

* * *

 

Aaron Burr was the kind of guy who could stand in line at Starbucks for fifteen minutes and still not have decided on an order by the time he got to the front, which would result in another fifteen minute hold up as well as angry customers. At least, that was Alexander's not-so-humble opinion.

Still, there was no denying that Aaron was Alexander's oldest and dearest friend. They had met back in freshman year in high school, and despite Aaron's best efforts to distance himself from Alexander, that tiny and frustratingly lovely man somehow managed to worm his way into Aaron's heart (Aaron still maintained that Alexander went at it with a sledgehammer).

Aaron was the first person Alexander had told about his powers. Back on Nevis, he had hid them – they weren't normal, weren't _natural_. Alexander had seen what happened to people who flaunted their powers, and though Aaron might reprimand him for not having enough self-preservation to keep a koala alive, Alexander wasn't stupid. When it came down to it, he knew when taking a stand became too risky for his own good.

(He just didn't care.)

Straight out of high school, Alexander and Aaron both got into Columbia. Aaron was studying law, while Alexander chose to take on a peculiar mix of law, PoliSci, and economics. This was before he became entangled in fights with supervillains – had he known that being a superhero would take up quite so much time, he would only have picked the first two.

Aaron was also the one to whom Alexander had opened up after the loss of his first team, the only person who knew just how great that grief was. He had talked Alexander out of an emotional black hole, and had stopped Alexander from going Angelica, whom Alexander had perceived as being responsible for their deaths.

He was the one constant in Alexander's life.

Aaron Burr was Alexander Hamilton's reluctant best friend. Also, roommate. While the first was tiring but ultimately wholesome, the second was just vexing. Prior to becoming roommates with Alexander, Aaron had held some sort of respect for the guy, but it was hard to respect someone after one spends roughly a hour every week hunting down every coffee mug they owned, because, when Alexander used them, they had a tendency to… migrate, so to speak. Aaron had once found one in the dryer. He _genuinely_ did not want to know how on Earth it had gotten there, pausing Alexander's vehemently defensive explanations before he really got going.

“But–“ Alexander began sharply.

Aaron raised a hand, closing his eyes. “Really, Alexander,” he cut him off quickly, “I don't want to hear it. I don't want to know. I'm genuinely scared to know.”

Alexander muttered a few choice words under his breath that Aaron was about 80% sure were Elvish curses – and leave it to Alexander to teach himself an artificial language just to be able to curse in it – but didn't elaborate on the coffee mug.

Aaron counted that as a victory.

* * *

 

_Chat: casually plotting world domination_

_the marquis:_ I think my roommate's a superhero

 _the marquis:_ alexaaaaaander help

 _the marquis:_ is she a superhero

 _neuromancer:_ who?

 _the marquis:_ peggy schuyler

 _the marquis:_ my roommate

 _the marquis:_ alexander?

 _the marquis:_ alex

 _the marquis:_ ALEX

 _the marquis:_ fuck she's a superhero isn't she

 _the marquis:_ but she is the grumpiest human being alive

 _the marquis:_ and the duchess is really nice and polite and charming and sdfnkj

 _the marquis:_ aLEXANDER HAMILTON THIS IS JUST R U D E

 _the marquis:_ I SWEAR IF YOURE FUCKING LAURENS

 _the marquis:_ I hope you can't walk tomorrow

* * *

 

“Aaron, stop tugging on my sleeve.”

Smirk. “That's not the password.”

Sigh. “And you say that _I'm_ stubborn.”

“Password.”

“Aaron Burr, _sir,_ ” Alexander said in an exasperated tone, “please _let me leave_. I have a date.”

“I'm not sure I approve of John Laurens. He is just as completely batshit crazy as you are. You need someone to balance you out.”

Alexander flashed him a smile. “That's why I have you.”

* * *

 

 _margarita:_ yo dickhead

 _margarita:_ problem

 _creepy brain guy:_ shoot

 _creepy brain guy:_ well, not literally

 _creepy brain guy:_ please don't take this as an invitation to come over and shoot me

 _margarita:_ I wouldn't do that to aaron

 _margarita:_ he'd hate to clean up the blood

 _margarita:_ but anyway, I've got a problem

 _margarita:_ which is

 _margarita:_ I think my roommate is the marquis

 _creepy brain guy:_ I'm not the mind reader, pegs

 _creepy brain guy:_ I need a name

 _margarita:_ it's long tho

 _margarita:_ like, I need to find the post-it note because I genuinely had to write it down

 _margarita:_ okay here goes

 _margarita:_ marie-joseph paul yves roch gilbert du motier

 _margarita:_ I feel sympathy bc that's like thrice the length of my name

 _margarita:_ aleeeeeeeeeex

 _margarita:_ dude, do you know him

 _margarita:_ alexander hamilton damn it answer me

 _margarita:_ . . . . _-.-'_

 _margarita:_ you know him don't you

 _margarita:_ that's the marquis??

 _margarita:_ but gil is literally a ray of sunshine

 _margarita:_ are you honestly trying to convince me that gilbert “I'm every definition of gay and then some” du motier is the marquis

 _margarita:_ as in, total megalomaniac complete with evil cackling

 _margarita:_ at least according to angie who had to fight him recently

 _margarita:_ the same gilbert du motier who regularly gives away to charity

 _margarita:_ THAT gilbert??

 _creepy brain guy:_ . . . . . . .

 _creepy brain guy:_ you didn't hear it from me

 _margarita:_ see this is why angelica doesn't like you

 _margarita:_ are you ignoring me

 _margarita:_ you're ignoring me

* * *

 

“What the _actual fuck_ are you doing?” Specter shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to make his voice heard above the ruckus. He was staring at his nemesis' most recent plan of increasingly stupid proportions – namely setting up inane traps pitting Specter against a good portion of the mind-controlled police force.

The Marquis shrugged smugly. “Just sending my love, _mon amour_ ,” he purred.

Specter stared. “Are you asking me on a date or trying to kill me? Because I honestly can’t tell the difference,” he said frankly.

The Marquis didn't respond, which didn't surprise Specter in the least. That self-satisfied motherfucker never replied with anything but a witticism that was a crossover between a death threat and a seduction attempt, then refuse to acknowledge that the conversation ever took place. Each and every _fucking_ time. Frankly, Specter was fed up with the guy. If the Marquis could decide what he wanted, it would greatly simplify Specter's life – he wouldn't be torn between the urge to imprison the guy and the urge to kiss that annoying smirk off his face.

An explosion near Specter shifted his attention back to the issue at hand – more specifically, the battle that was raging all around him and which he was at the epicenter of. Cackling villain, evil plan, stop chaos. _Right_.

For the next several moments – although it really could just as well have been a few moments, or a couple dozen of them, since Specter had never taken the time to figuring out the exact length of a moment as compared to the standard time measurements – the battle was– not _quiet_ per se – it was a _battle_ , after all – but the Marquis didn't speak, which was a relief since Specter could focus on the fight instead of struggling with his feelings for that infuriating – and infuriatingly handsome – supervillain. Then the Marquis just _had to_ open his mouth again. His gorgeous, _gorgeous_ mou–

Nope. Not going there right now.

“Is it just me or have the general public been hindering you in arresting me lately?” the Marquis remarked lightly.

Specter groaned, even he carefully stepped away from the ice lest he slip. Honestly, he was the only superhero whose supersuit could also double as appropriate clothing for trip to Antarctica – and it was currently _winter_. The heat was unbearable during the summer, and Specter sometimes envied the other heroes their villains. At least they didn't need to have ice-proof supersuits. He'd choose illusions or mind-control every day.

He could technically become invisible and try to sneak up on the Marquis to try to knock him out, but Specter had long since discovered that the Marquis always seemed to know exactly where Specter was. It was as though he could see through Specter's powers, although the mere notion was _ridiculous_.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Specter replied, aiming for baffled and missing by a long shot.

The Marquis smiled. It was a very nice smile, Specter reflected, then had to duck as the Marquis shot a dozen icicle projectiles in his direction. _Sweet Jesus,_ Specter thought tiredly, _multiple personalities much?_

“You're lying,” the Marquis pointed out, absentmindedly twirling his finger in the air, forming and grouping the frozen water particles in the air until they formed a very solid and, from the sight of it, very sharp dagger. The Marquis grabbed it, examining the blade. “Neat,” he finally said, voice tinged with approval. “You were saying?” he addressed Specter.

Specter snorted. “Your subtle death threats became boring a long time ago.”

“You didn't answer my question,” the Marquis shot back. “Are you _avoiding_ it?” his grin widened, though it no longer was the friendly grin from before.

“I'll _show_ you avoidance,” Specter punched the Marquis.

* * *

 

Hercules opened his eyes with a start. He looked around the bedroom, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings– actually, no, they were all too familiar, but Hercules struggled to place them. His eyes finally settled on the person sleeping beside him in the bed. His eyes rove up and down the body next to him.

His dick twitched at the memory of last night, coupled with the feel of a warm body against his, but Hercules pointedly ignored it in favour of sitting up, then standing up, finally mastering enough energy to go to the bathroom.

“You moaned quite nicely last night,” Lafayette said suddenly from the bed, causing Hercules to almost choke on his toothpaste. “And begged for mercy, too,” he grinned lasciviously.

“Shut up,” Hercules muttered. He began digging in his wardrobe, finally finding what he was looking for and hiding in his bathroom. Only when he put his pajamas on did he take another look at Lafayette. “God, I slept with a supervillain,” the realization hit him again.

Lafayette was still grinning. “Yeah, and I had a one night stand with a superhero. Funny how these things happen, wouldn't you say?”

Hercules shook his head. “Breakfast,” he said shortly, already heading for the door.

Hercules heard the rustle of sheets and clothes behind him. “Breakfast,” Lafayette confirmed, for once on the same wavelength.

* * *

 

“We were drunk,” Hercules finally spoke, staring into his cup of freshly-brewed coffee.

“ _Very_ drunk,” Lafayette agreed.

“This was a bad decision,” Hercules continued.

Lafayette tilted his head. “Was it really, though?” he asked.

How can you even ask that? Hercules' affront sounded forced even to his own ears.

Lafayette shrugged. “You have to admit that there was a lot of unresolved tension between us,” he responded. “The entire city ships us.”

Hercules let his head fall back with a groan. “So you know about that,” he noted.

Lafayette grinned. “It wasn't exactly subtle,” he pointed out.

“You know, you're a lot friendlier outside of the costume,” Hercules decided.

“So I've been told.”

“By?” Hercules prompted when Lafayette didn't elaborate.

Lafayette smirked. “Oh, you know, the usual. Alexander, Mr Magenta, my roommate, the usual.”

Hercules blinked. “Your roommate?” he echoed.

“Of course I have a roommate,” Lafayette responded to the unspoken question. “Do you really think I can afford all _this_ ,” he gestured around the kitchen, “on my own?”

“Does your roommate know who you are?”

“Didn't I just say that?” Lafayette frowned.

“Yeah, but– never mind,” Hercules waved his hand in dismissal.”So who's your roommate?”

“Hi, guys,” Peggy's voice came from behind them, causing Hercules to jump up, startled, while Lafayette smirked. “Had a good night?”

* * *

_margarita:_ so herc and laf are sleeping together

 _creepy brain guy:_ what

 _creepy brain guy:_ when did that happen

 _margarita:_ right now

 _creepy brain guy:_ as in, you're watching them? kinky, pegs, kinky

 _margarita:_ didn't mean it that way, you moron

 _margarita:_ I just came back from a night out with eliza and angie

 _margarita:_ and guess who I saw at the kitchen table

 _creepy brain guy:_ whom

 _margarita:_ what

 _creepy brain guy:_ it's not 'who', it's 'whom'

 _margarita:_ who even cares

 _creepy brain guy:_ I do

 _creepy brain guy:_ go on

 _margarita:_ there's not much more to say

 _margarita:_ they were leaning against each other and talking in whispers

 _margarita:_ it was aDORABLE

 _creepy brain guy:_ pic or it didn't happen

 _margarita:_ I thought you might say that

_margarita: [Picture attached]_

_creepy brain guy:_ you were right that's adoooorable

 _creepy brain guy:_ I'm sharing it with everyone

 _margarita:_ see this is why people don't send you shit you oversharer

* * *

“You know, black suits you,” Angelica complimented Alexander out of the blue one day, mid- one of their fights.

“Black suits everybody,” Alexander retorted. “And don't think I'll go easier on you just because you compliment my fashion choices.”

“The Jedi robes, on the other hand, _don't_ ,” Angelica continued blithely.

“They are Sith robes, _thank you very much_ ,” one of Alexander's clones replied said haughtily.

Angelica turned to face that clone. “You _nerd_.”

The clone shrugged. “I never denied that.”

“I feel like you're lowering the standard for supervillains,” Angelica taunted a moment later.

Alexander's eyes blazed. “Take it back.”

Angelica snorted. “Really, Alexander? You know me better than that.”

“Very well,” Alexander warned. “You asked for this.”

* * *

 

James stared at the object in his hands. He looked up to meet Thomas' hopeful gaze. He looked down again. “You’re a young, good-looking, suave billionaire,” he began slowly, as though trying to make heads or tails of this entire situation. “which I know for a fact because I'm stuck doing your tax payments, so please explain to me why you would steal this necklace for me when you could easily buy a hundred of them.”

Thomas shrugged. “For the aesthetic,” he said simply.

“You have a creepy approach to Valentine's day,” James informed him.

“Thank you,” Thomas grinned flagrantly.

“That's not a positive thing, Thomas,” James scolded.

“Sure it is,” Thomas winked. “Do you want me to prove it to you, Jemmy?”

James' mind froze. “How about maybe we have dinner first?” he suggested.

Thomas inclined his head. “Dinner it is,” he confirmed.

“Just–“ James hesitated, “nowhere to expensive, okay?”

Thomas pecked his lips. "Promise," he said earnestly.

* * *

 

 _laf:_ how come alex is so much faster at getting his evil inventions patented?

 _laf:_ I feel jealous

 _herc:_ he is simply more efficient

 _laf:_ are you implying I'm not efficient

 _herc:_ 'implying' would imply that there can be another alternative

 _laf:_ *gasp * I feel betrayed

 _herc:_ you are a drama queen

 _laf:_ no, mr magenta's the drama queen

 _laf:_ like, have you MET the guy

 _herc:_ unfortunately, yes

 _herc:_ suffice to say, it wasn't one of the better mornings of my life

 _herc:_ also, my coffee was cold

 _laf:_ you should go to stumptown coffee roasters

 _herc:_ what's there?

 _laf:_ 1\. v good coffee

 _laf:_ 2\. alexander's new boyfriend

 _herc:_ the one you kidnapped back in january?

 _laf:_ yeah

 _herc:_ what's so special about him

 _laf:_ he makes the BEST coffee

 _herc:_ since when do coffee shops serve supervillains

 _laf:_ since alexander began dating laurens, apparently

 _herc:_ huh

 _herc:_ good to know

 _laf:_ that sounds suspiciously ominous

 _laf:_ I'm supposed to be the ominous one, remember

 _herc:_ sorry for stealing your gig

 _herc:_ #sorry not sorry

 _laf:_ #please stop using hashtags

 _herc:_ hi pot I'm kettle

* * *

“Good, you're awake,” Mr Magenta's voice greeted her as she awoke from a forcibly-induced sleep.

“If you think you'll get me to cooperate with whatever it is you're planning,” Peggy began, “then you're out of your fucking mind because, though _you_ might not think there's anything wrong with–“

Mr Magenta waved his hand dismissively, quickly silencing Peggy, who internally fumed even as her stomach churned. She often forgot – or intentionally pushed away the fact – that Thomas' mind-control worked on her just fine, and that, if he truly wanted to, he could kill her at any moment during any battle – or _worse_. “It's not that,” he said.

“What is it then, asshole?” Peggy barked, because if she was going to be a hostage, she might as well annoy the hostager. Hostager? Captor? Kidnapper? Holder of hostages? Anyway, she might as well derive some enjoyment out of this whole mess.

Mr Magenta sighed. “I need your help,” he finally admitted, though it was clear that he was reluctant – even under pain – to do so.

Peggy groaned. “Once more with feeling: I'm not helping you with your evil–“

“It's not one of my evil schemes,” Mr Magenta said impatiently. “I said it before. It's a more… personal matter,” he said hesitantly.

Peggy blinked, then closed her eyes as the meaning behind Mr Magenta's words fully hit her. “Seriously?” she retorted. “Are you going to ask _me_ for dating advise?” she asked incredulously. “You _do_ know that I'm possibly the worst person you can ask about that? Even Burr would be better.”

“Yeah, right,” Mr Magenta scoffed, and _there_ was at least one opinion they shared: their mutual dislike for all things Aaron Burr.

Mr Magenta swirled around and approached one of his many, many desks. He withdrew something from one of the drawers, then turned around to show the two– _crowns_? _What the actual fuck_.

“Which crown do you like better on me?” Mr Magenta asked, putting one on, then replacing it with the other. “I can’t decide if A is too gaudy or B is too plain, and I need to decide for my date.”

Peggy sighed. ‘There’s beating me to a bloody pulp, making me your hostage, and trying to take over my city, and then there’s asking me to make fashion decisions,” she said firmly. “Not going to happen. Also, purely out of curiosity, what kind of a date would require a crown?”

Mr Magenta sniffed the air. “You have no sense of fashion,” he stated haughtily.

Peggy shrugged. “Not really,” she conceded. “Then again,” she assessed his suit with a dubious glance, “you've been wearing the same magenta suit for the past five years. You have no room to talk, Mr Fashion of 2012.”

“What a refreshing insult,” Mr Magenta deadpanned. “Did you come up with it yourself?” and yes, this was precisely why she hasn't switched villains with another hero – because, although Mr Magenta was evil and frustrating and had a _terrible_ fashion sense, he also came with dry humour and witticisms that she'd usually only get from Alexander.

“I'm smart like that,” she flashed him a smile.

He rolled his eyes. “It is adorable how you think that you are funny.”

“I _know_ I'm not funny,” she replied. “I'm _hilarious_.”

“Very. Now, which crown? A,” he showed it off, “or B?” he twirled around in it.

Peggy snorted. “You look terrible in both. Go for a tiara.”

“A tiara wouldn't be suitable for the date,” Mr Magenta refuted.

“How very tragic. However will you survive?” Peggy infused her words with enough sarcasm to break through even the most oblivious of people.

“You are no longer funny,” her villain decided. “Choose a crown,” he pulled a hatch, and an axe attached to a thin rope suddenly dropped out of the ceiling and began swinging dangerously close to Peggy's nose, “or die.”

Peggy flinched but held her ground. “It's like you're not even trying anymore,” she whined, knowing that it would infuriate Mr Magenta like nothing else.

“Choose,” Mr Magenta began pressing random buttons, “a,” the blue button seemed to have triggered the fire alarm, and _why did Mr Magenta even have a fire alarm_ , “crown,” the villain began cursing as he tried to silence the fire alarm, to no avail.

Peggy snickered. Mr Magenta's head turned to look at her so fast that she was surprised that he didn't get whiplash. As it was, the villain glowered at her. “What's so funny?” he growled.

Stifling her laughter, Peggy indicated the still-screeching fire alarm with her head. “You know that you only have to take out the batteries, right?” she proposed, voice full of mirth.

Mr Magenta glared an additional time, then turned back to examine the alarm. “A-ha!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Found it!” with as much flourish as he could muster while clutching a beeping alarm, he pressed the red button on the fire alarm.

“I begin to comprehend why your schemes continually fail,” Peggy said conversationally, “if you can't even figure out how to shut off a meager fire alarm.”

“But I did!” Mr Magenta protested.

“Yeah, with _my_ help,” Peggy pointed out. “And no, I haven't changed my mind about a team-up.”

“You still haven't replied: A or B?”

Peggy rolled her eyes again. “In case you haven't noticed, I really don't care. I just want to go back home, watch some Netflix – preferably without my roommate making out with his boyfriend on the couch because I still need to bleach my mind from the last time they did that – eat some chips, and sleep for forty hours. Not sure about the order.”

“Well then,” Mr Magenta clicked his fingers. “Let's see your dreams realized, Duchess dearest.”

Peggy blinked. “Wait– just like that?” she couldn't quite hide the incredulity from her voice.

Mr Magenta shrugged. “I'm a people-friendly villain like that.”

“Apart from murder and mayhem, you also occasionally free your hostages after annoying them with requests for fashion advise,” Peggy muttered just loud enough for the villain to hear, then made herself scarce before Mr Magenta could retaliate.

* * *

Angelica often reprimanded Eliza for keeping up her blog. Specifically, her tradition of giving New York City's villains dumb nicknames in an effort to bring comic relief to her readers in order to make reality just that bit brighter. Angelica argued that some villain would come after her eventually, and that it didn't matter that one of them used to be her boyfriend. Villains were all cut from the same cloth, Angelica argued, and though Peggy looked ready to argue, and Eliza _knew_ better, they recognized an unwinnable battle when they saw one.

The problem with Angelica's theory was that Eliza's blog was anonymous, which would make it far more difficult for the villains to track her down – and sure, they _could_ , and there was always a risk that they _would_ , but what both Angelica and Peggy seemed to forget was that Eliza herself wasn't defenseless simply because she chose not to become a superheroine. In case someone came looking for her, she had all the time in the world to neutralize them, and they wouldn't suspect a thing – the perks that come with _not being a superhero, so there, Angelica_.

This was the story of how Baron Buttfreeze and the Magenta Grinch gradually became fully recognized nicknames for the Marquis and Mr Magenta, beginning to get a life of their own on the internet.

She resolutely refused to create a nickname for Alexander. For one, he had never liked names that were forced upon him; second, he already _has_ two nicknames – one for his 'good' alter ego, and one for his 'evil' one; and third, somewhere inside, she was still holding out just a little hope that he still could be redeemed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this turned out to be heavily Laf/Herc, but I also adored the way Peggy kind of forced her way into this.
> 
> Thoughts?


End file.
